Transition
by becca85
Summary: Roses mean remember. That's what Cathy had said.


**A/N: If you have ever checked out my profile and seen my other stories, you'll notice that I tend to prefer writing one-shot short stories. Those are definitely my preferences, but I have written a few multi-chapter stories. Unfortunately, I have an "Incomplete Stories" folder on my computer where half of the stories in it are extensive multi-chapter stories. My problem is that I get off to a great start, but I lose momentum somewhere in the midst of these stories and they stay incomplete. That's one of the reasons I hesitate to start anything truly substantial, like a sequel to Rose Red that's been on my mind for a while now. Like my story "Closure," this story can be something of a prologue for a potential sequel that I may write, but if I do write it, it will be a long multi-chapter story that may eventually find itself in limbo for a long time. **

**DISCLAIMER: ****I do not own any of the characters or ideas created by Stephen King. I borrowed them for the entertainment and amusement of my audience.**

**SUMMARY: ****Roses mean remember. That's what Cathy had said.**

**GENRE: Horror**

**RATING: PG-13**

**DATE: September 5, 2013**

**::~*~::**

Joyce hovered in the tower folly alongside Ellen and Sukeena. She was still having trouble comprehending how her choices had led her to this state of limbo. She shouldn't be here, and, yet, here she was. How much longer would _here_ exist, though? The women were standing at the highest pinnacle of the house that gave them such a clear view over the grounds, but it wasn't the grounds that had their attention. Just beyond the gates of Rose Red, a procession of large, yellow vehicles were approaching up the street. While her heart no longer beat, Joyce imagined that it still leapt within her breast. Today was the day.

At some point in her former life, she might have dreamt of the idea of participating in the glory of Rose Red in her present state, being able to delve into its secrets as one of its victims, but that was a thought that she had kept carefully enfolded within the boundaries of her dreams. How would she publish countless books and enlarge the field of parapsychology if she was dead? She'd never, in her wildest dreams, act upon such a desire. She would do what research she could, then she would walk away and write her first book. That was how it was supposed to be.

She couldn't believe he'd left her. In retrospect, she really couldn't blame him. She'd slapped and punched him and even screamed at him. The look of astonishment on his face was a look that would forever haunt her in this eternal limbo. In that moment, he'd wiped his hands of her. He'd tried to save her and she had simply refused to be saved, and so he'd left her behind.

Her death was instantaneous. In fact, she was surprised at how quickly the transition happened. One moment they had been encircling her, much like vultures do before pouncing on their prey. The next moment, she was one of them. The circle had grown increasingly smaller and then it grew larger again until they disappeared behind the walls. They'd stolen her life essence and then they had vanished. She wasn't even sure how exactly she had died. Was it a heart attack? Had she literally been scared to death? Or was it something that modern, rational thought would never be able to answer? She supposed it really didn't matter to her; she was dead after all.

A myriad of emotions had overcome her in those first few moments of death. She was angry. Angry at Steve for saving everyone else and leaving her. Angry at those the house had already claimed for turning on her. Angry at those who had managed to get out in time. Angry at herself for having this sick, twisted desire to awaken a house she knew would hunt them down. Anger had given way to sorrow which had given way to determination. It had only ever been a dream, but now that it was a reality, she could act upon it. However, Rose Red thwarted her at every turn. Secrets she had hoped to uncover were still barred from her. It hadn't taken long to figure out why. Ellen was the grand mistress of Rose Red and Rose Red bent itself to her rule only. The secrets it possessed were not to be doled out to every victim the house claimed unless Ellen allowed it. Ellen retained absolute control and that was how it was always to be.

Days turned into weeks which turned into months. Joyce avoided her "housemates" as often as she could. Despite not being allowed to understand the house, Joyce found herself frequently keeping company with Sukeena, and occasionally Ellen, in the tower. She often fled there to escape the accusing stares of those she had brought into the house. Their hatred had been evident and had barely diminished as time had passed. She believed they blamed her more for their entrapment in this limbo, then for their deaths. She had somehow cheated them out of their afterlife, or whatever they had believed in. They were denied any eternal peace because of her.

That was why she was so excited for today. Perhaps with the destruction of the house, they could all find some peace. Even she was growing tired of the labyrinthine passages of the house, only finding so much enjoyment in the building that had once consumed her every waking thought. Perhaps they would finally be free.

Freedom. The very word had a sweet taste to it. She likened it to the legendary ambrosia of the gods in its desirability. She had watched Steve drive onto the property recently—the very nature of time passing had been lost to her, so it could have been a day ago or a week ago—and she had been filled with such envy. They all had the freedom to come and go as they chose. They had come to visit the house one last time before the demolition. Joyce had initially hovered nearby, but in the bright sunlight, they weren't able to see her. She suspected Annie may have seen something, but she gave no indication to the others.

_Roses mean remember._ That's what Cathy had said. Who, or what, were they remembering? Those who died, or those who survived Rose Red? They had brought five roses, but seven people had died. Granted they hadn't known Professor Miller or Kevin Bollinger very well, if at all. If the roses were meant for the rest of them, who had put her rose down? She liked to think it was Steve. Maybe he thought kindly of her in memory. Of course, Joyce had seen the way he looked at Rachel. Part of her wanted to be bitter about his affections being turned upon the younger girl, but part of her was also happy for him, primarily because he _was_ happy.

Joyce looked to the ghostly woman floating on her right. Sukeena turned to look at her, but Joyce got the distinct feeling that Sukeena was staring through her to the other woman there. Joyce turned around to look at Ellen…except Ellen had changed. No longer the floating, misty ghost that Sukeena and Joyce were, she looked as if she were a young bride once again, taking her first tour of the grand house. Dressed in her immaculate white dress, her dark hair swept up in a style very fashionable in the early part of the twentieth century, she stood erect and quite formidable as she stared down upon the approaching vehicles, her flawless face an impenetrable mask. For the first time, Joyce noticed the objects in her hands. Her right hand was held behind her back, a folded fan clutched within her grasp. Her left hand, however, held a hammer to her breast. Her youthful face brightened as a smile stole over her features. A chill ran through Joyce as she beheld the expression on Ellen's face.

Ellen turned to look at Joyce and Sukeena. "Rose Red cannot die. This is only a transition." Her face turned back to look out the windowless portal. "We shall endure."


End file.
